


Love came knocking (at the door)

by LaCroixWitch



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Lawyer Alec Lightwood, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teacher Alec Lightwood, Teacher Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCroixWitch/pseuds/LaCroixWitch
Summary: Nothing exciting happens in the small town of Brocelind Plains. At least it didn't, until Alec Lightwood moves in next door, and Magnus' whole world is disrupted. It's up to him to decide if change is a good thing.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 34
Kudos: 299
Collections: Hunter's Moon Creation Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [high_warlock_of_brooklyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_warlock_of_brooklyn/gifts).



> For just_another_lightwood_bane, for whom I tried to incorporate as many of your listed tropes as possible. <3

Magnus used to think he was the type of guy who liked change. Hell, back in the day, he felt like he was the king of spontaneity—  _ The High Warlock of Brooklyn _ his friends used to joke, both because he had a magical way of making any party spectacular, and because he used to indulge a bit too much in soft drugs of the horticultural variety. But he was still cool, right? He thought to himself as he worried the inside of his cheek, staring through his blinds. He was cool, so if he found something particularly annoying, it wasn’t because he was a crotchety old man, right?

He gripped his coffee cup tightly, as if it was his only grasp on the stability of his neighborhood. His cat Chairman Meow was particularly on edge too, pacing in a nervous figure eight in and around his owner’s legs. With each pass of the obnoxious, loud, blonde-haired buffoon that was doing most of the unpacking, Magnus felt his tension grow. The Chairman’s discomfort was made clear as a tall, dark-haired man lugged a cat carrier into the house, with a disgruntled looking grey Persian clawing away at its cage. Magnus tried not to notice how gorgeous the man was, instead focusing on how incredibly annoyed he was to have new neighbors.

Gideon Lightwood, rest in peace, had been bad enough, but at least he was quiet. Prejudiced, rude, and a pain in the ass for the entirety of the Brocelind Plains High School staff, but quiet. Two young men, on the other hand— both incredibly well-muscled and masculine ( _ and likely straight _ , _ to boot _ )— felt like a frat house rolling up at his doorstep. Worse still was the car parked in the drive— a flashy, ‘my daddy is a lawyer’ style cherry-red Maserati. Vintage, too. He wanted to appreciate the car, because it was absolutely stunning, but the rumpled, dark-haired boy who’d climbed out of it a few hours ago, brandishing the keys to the old rickety Lightwood house as if he owned the place, looked incredibly too young to have paid for such a thing on his own. Magnus didn’t respect handouts, or the people who benefited from them.

Magnus had bought his house all on his own, restoring the three-storied Victorian from what had nearly been a precarious pile of rotting wood, breathing into it a new, eccentric life. Magnus deserved it. After finishing school in the city, he’d taken every penny he saved up from working at the Thai restaurant to purchase a loft in Brooklyn and start off at his dream job, only to escape it all less than five years later. He fled to Brocelind Plains, following his best friends, and threw himself into renovating the dilapidated property. He started out his slow, peaceful life in a slow, peaceful town. A slow life that didn’t involve twenty-something brutes rolling up early on a Saturday morning and disrupting his sacred front-porch-swing reading time. He had to go inside, retreating into the safety of his front parlor where he could stare at the action outside through the blinds in his bay window. 

He couldn’t  _ not _ watch, despite the fact that Ragnor and Cat both had texted him, telling him to let it go and just enjoy his morning regardless. Nothing ever happened in Brocelind Plains. When Gideon Lightwood died, Magnus assumed the house would stay empty for a long time, not that someone would move in only months later. A different type of person might be excited at the prospect of a new neighbor— or meeting someone new in general. They might start daydreaming about how the stranger could be their soulmate. But not Magnus. He’d moved to Brocelind Plains years and years ago to avoid love altogether and live with his best friends. There was nothing this stranger could offer him except inevitable annoyance. He sighed, backing away from the blinds and sitting down in his velvet armchair. He needed to get out more, if someone moving in was the epitome of excitement for him.  _ Not just someone _ , he reminded himself,  _ a neighbor.  _

His chicory oat-milk latte did little to soothe his nerves. Chairman Meow hopped on his lap almost the second Magnus’ ass cheeks hit the cushion, bunting his mug hard enough to make a bit of coffee spill.

“ _ Chairman, no, _ ” Magnus huffed. “You stupid, stupid, cat. You hate being wet, but you spill my coffee all over your head.”

“ _ Mrow!” _ Chairman yelped, bolting away.  _ Quite the overreaction to being scolded,  _ Magnus laughed to himself. He leaned forward, taking another look outside, only to find that the dinged-up van was gone.  _ Curious… _ Magnus thought to himself. He’d barely seen them move in any actual furniture. Just some small boxes, a lamp or two, and the cat. _ Maybe the bigger moving trucks were coming later?  _ He mused, sipping his coffee. 

A hesitant knock on the door broke him from his daydream, startling him enough for his cup to fly from his hand, spilling coffee everywhere and sending porcelain shattering across the parquet floors. That had been a gift from Tessa and Jem— an antique British china set. He sighed, kicking a few shards away as he walked to the front door. Thankfully, he’d escaped the most of the spray from the disaster, but he still dusted himself off before answering, running his fingers through his hair and dabbing beneath his eyes to clean up his eyeliner. As he swung open the door, he was met with a familiar unwelcome stranger, looking haphazard and nervous.

“I uh, heard that crash?” He said as if it were a question. “I can come back if now’s not a great time…”

“No, by all means,” Magnus deadpanned. He didn’t welcome the man in, instead standing in what he hoped looked like a formidable stance at the door.

“Er...” the stranger shifted awkwardly, his hazel eyes dropping to the ground. “This is stupid, I’m sorry. I’m definitely bothering you.” He turned to walk away, but Magnus stopped him. While he wasn’t excited for new neighbors, he wasn’t a monster.

“I saw you moved in today— welcome to Brocelind Plains,” Magnus said dryly. 

The stranger turned around, cracking a crooked smile that made Magnus feel warm in ways he hadn’t planned on feeling on a chilly early-October morning. 

“I’m Alec,” he said quickly, extending a hand. Magnus appraised it warily before accepting, noticing a strange pattern of calluses that betrayed Alec’s disheveled post-grad look. After a calculated pause that was long enough for Magnus to convey his hesitance, he shook Alec’s hand.

“Alec, is that short for Alexander?”

“Yeah, it is. But, it’s just Alec.” Magnus had never seen such a handsome man look so uncomfortable and lack this much self-assurance. Alec flexed his jaw nervously, the z-shaped tattoo on his neck moving with his taught, sinewy muscles. Neck tattoos were not the harbinger of a great neighbor. Magnus’ hopes for the continuation of his peaceful and quiet life diminished further. The tattoo was relatively small though— small enough that it could maybe be hidden beneath the collar of a dress shirt, but still visible when he was wearing a ratty old black v-neck. There was a chance it was his soulmark, but the lines looked too harsh and artificial.  _ Curiouser still…  _

“And I’m ‘just Magnus’.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay,  _ Alec _ . It was nice to meet you.” Magnus stepped back, about to shut the door.

“Beer!” Alec chimed, holding up a wrinkled paper grocery bag. “My brother, he uh— I brought us some beers to share. To say hello?”

“I don’t drink beer,” Magnus’ lip curled with a disgust that was hard to disguise. 

“Me neither…” Alec trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Thank you for the offer, but it is barely 10:00 am, and I was rudely woken up by the sound of bad, early 2000’s Eminem blasting from an old stereo your roommate blondie over there set up on the porch, so I think I’m going to pass on the beer and make myself another cup of coffee to replace the one I just decorated my parlor with.”

“He’s not my roommate, he’s just my brother,” Alec defended. “Who won’t be living here, I should add. And he’s really obnoxious, I know. I promise I’m a lot quieter.”

“That’s what they all say,” Magnus mumbled under his breath. What would have been much quieter would have been for Magnus to buy the old Lightwood house himself, turn it into a bed and breakfast, have a new project to work on remodeling the place. But no, this  _ Alexander _ had to barge in. “It was nice meeting you Alexander,” Magnus ended the conversation, closing the door. Through the quickly closing crack he heard a feeble response.

“It’s just Alec.”

* * *

_Later, in the Lightwood house_

“He hates me!” Alec hissed into the phone, pulling at his hair as he paced the creaking wood floors.

“Well did you give him the beer?” Jace yelled into the handset of Izzy’s phone.

“Yes, and it was such a stupid idea. One of your dumbest yet.”   


“Why? Everyone loves beer.” Jace laughed.

“Everyone loves alcohol,” Isabelle corrected.

“Not at 10:00 in the morning,” Alec groaned. “I can’t believe I listened to you.”

“I didn’t tell you to give it to him right away!”

“You really need to work on your social skills, big brother,” Izzy chided.

“Well what was I supposed to do? I saw the way he was glaring at us through his blinds, I wanted to try to smooth things over, get off on the right foot.”

“I’m sure you’ll find this so hard to believe because you’re so warm and fuzzy and love everyone,” Izzy said sarcastically. “But maybe he just isn’t a friendly person. Maybe he just won’t like you.”

“But he’s my neighbor, Iz. I’d prefer not to live next door to someone who hates me.”

“Yes, and he used to be uncle Gideon’s neighbor. Uncle Gideon was a bad guy. It’s no wonder this Magnus guy is wary of him.”

“I moved here for a new start, to be somewhere where I’m not beaten down every day by people who hate me.”

“I’m sure things will get better  _ hermano _ . Just be yourself. And don’t listen to Jace, he gives terrible advice.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was something so peaceful about a high school early in the morning. The halls were empty, the lights were dim. The loudest sound was the wheezing of the old radiators, punctuated occasionally by the clunk of the ancient copper piping. 

Magnus flicked on the lights in his classroom, the incandescent panels turning on lazily one by one. Their faint buzz was comforting, grounding Magnus, and nudging him forward to start his day. He was thankful he cleaned up the room Friday after classes. It was ‘DNA in chemistry’ week, and the students would be working on gel electrophoresis experiments that would require almost every bench to turn into a sterile workstation. Well, as sterile as anything in a high school could be. 

Stashing his briefcase under his computer desk, he walked over to his work station in the front of the classroom to begin setting up for the day. But something pale yellow caught his eye, standing out stark against the matte black surface of his lab bench. Something that looked deviously like a piece of letterhead from the principal’s office.  _ Ragnor, _ he nearly grumbled out loud.

> _ Mr. Bane, _
> 
> Magnus stopped reading, rolling his eyes. If his oldest friend was using official titles in this letter, it couldn’t be good. 
> 
> _ I’m pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a very exciting opportunity. A new teacher is permanently joining our staff, filling the void in the History department left behind by Gideon Lightwood.  _
> 
> _ Given your tenure at Brocelind Plains High, and your enthusiastic commitment to our faculty culture, you’ve been assigned as his orientation supervisor. Considering it is halfway through the fall semester, he will not be able to go through our normal training procedures, so I trust you to make sure he has everything he needs to hit the ground running, and that you assist him in any way possible.  _
> 
> _ Since the school board requires that each teacher do their part for the betterment of our extracurricular activities, he is to shadow you at all events and club meetings until he finds a niche of his own here. _
> 
> _ I have assigned your class a substitute teacher for the first period, so that the two of you can get better acquainted. You will meet in the faculty lounge at the first bell. _
> 
> _ Cheers, _
> 
> _ Professor Ragnor Fell _

Magnus scoffed. ‘ _ Meet in the lounge at first bell’ _ What was he? A spy? Was this an official assignment? He had half a mind to march to the principal’s office and demand an explanation from Ragnor, but after their disastrous summer trip to Peru, and the fact that they’d almost lost half of the Spanish club in Nazca due completely to the fact that Magnus got drunk and didn’t notice that the kids snuck out of the hotel, he owed Ragnor at least this. And he would likely owe Ragnor for the rest of their lives.

Dreading the disruption from his routine, Magnus scowled at his lab coat that would sit abandoned for a whole 80 minute lesson. He got to work jotting down notes for his first period on the chalkboard, making a detailed list of everything they would need to do to prepare for what now would be  _ tomorrow’s _ gel electrophoresis lab. Busywork— reading, note taking, writing the beginnings of the abstract and procedures for their reports. Satisfied with his work, he dusted his fingers off on his special chalk towel— one with the Chemistry Cat meme on it, a Secret Santa gift he received at last year’s faculty Christmas party from the Physics teacher and meme king extraordinaire, Simon Lewis. 

Sighing into his caffeine-molecule printed travel mug, Magnus assessed just how dire his situation was. He had about twenty minutes until the first bell. He was leaving this last-minute substitute teacher only a list on the chalkboard and a hastily written post-it note to go off of. But both of those paled in comparison to the true tragedy— he hadn’t dressed half as well as he should have to introduce himself to a new instructor. It was a lab-experiment day— his clothes would normally be hidden by his long white lab coat, his eyes obscured by goggles. He’d avoided makeup that would smear, left out his cheek highlighter, and stayed away from any pesky jewelry that might find its way out of his coat and into vials of chemicals. Even though his coat protected him, he still never wore his best clothes on lab days, just to er on the side of caution. Long story short, he was not at his best. 

But he was Magnus Bane— best dressed at Brocelind Plains high 8 years and counting, yearbook official— and he would have to make it work. He strutted to the back of the room, opening the corner supply cabinet where he stashed all of his emergency essentials and had a long mirror hanging on the door.  _ It could be much worse, _ he thought to himself, taking in his attire. His ankle-length plum dress pants were a bit plain but well-cut, showing off his gold ankle chain and accentuating his relatively cute black lab-day loafers. They were still fashionable, but they were the cheap pleather kind of shoe he stocked up on from the discount fashion store, resigning himself to the reality that at some point, acid would fall onto his foot and destroy them. 

His shirt was less impressive, though. A black button down with a grey vest. Boring, safe, but he could work with it. He hastily unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, untucking the necklace he’d hidden underneath. It was better, but not enough. Digging through the drawers of the cabinet, he found another necklace, a simple leather cord with a key attached, and draped it over his neck. There were also a few stray rings in there, nothing compared to what he had at home, but the simple golden baubles would do— he just needed some armor. His hair looked fine, thank the gods and goddesses, but his makeup was not first-impression material. 

Finding his emergency eyeliner, he quickly added a bit more smoke under his eyes, fanning out the edges to give himself a bit of a kitten-eye flick. He dabbed on a bit of plum-colored gloss to match his pants and gave himself a pat on the back for having such a practical emergency makeup kit. He stepped back and took another look, almost pleased with what he was looking at. With his sleeves long and the shirt unbuttoned, he was giving off far too much of a Liberace vibe, which wouldn’t do. He carefully cuffed the sleeves to his elbows, completing the look. As he straightened the fold, he caught a glimpse of his soulmark— a short, black, barely-curved line on the inside of his forearm. Lonely and small, same as always— but for once, he couldn’t stop looking. Something felt different.  _ Probably just the lighting, _ he thought to himself,  _ or maybe I gained weight and it stretched out. _ It was likely neither, he dismissed. Stress played tricks on the mind.

The sound of the warning bell snapped him out of it. He closed the closet door and locked it up before leaving the classroom, nearly running into the substitute as she made her way in.

“Good morning, Dorothea,” Magnus smiled, patting her on the shoulder in apology for nearly knocking her over. 

“Morning, Mags,” She smiled. “Did you see the new history teacher?” She bit her lip, her eyes going a bit devilish, a blush painting her round cheeks.

“No, but I’m about to. I’m supposed to show him around today,” Magnus sighed, expressing his annoyance at the additional responsibility. 

“Well I have to warn you— he’s  _ very _ handsome. Enrique Iglesias  _ Bailamos _ levels.” She wiggled her eyebrows, insinuating their shared experience of an Iglesias concert in 1996, where they  _ both _ threw their shirts at the stage and cried like fan girls at the sight of his dreamy face. He cringed at the memory.

“Thanks for the warning,” Magnus rolled his eyes. “I’ll make sure to act accordingly.”

The halls were busier now, students buzzing about at their lockers, a few dipping into their homeroom classes. Their chatter was a dull roar, energetic, nostalgic, and distant. As Magnus made his way across the school to the faculty lounge, he realized he’d left his coffee in his classroom. It was too late to go back now. If he wanted more caffeine, he’d have to subject himself to the fickle whims of the faculty coffee pot. He shuddered at the thought.

The door opened before he touched the handle, Ragnor on the other side. 

“Nice of you to show up, Magnus,” Ragnor whispered. 

“You said the first bell,” Magnus mumbled back. “I came when I heard the first bell.” 

“Allow me to make the introductions,” Ragnor ushered Magnus in, trading places and standing at the open door. “Magnus Bane, this is Alec Lightwood, our new History Teacher.”

There he was— Magnus’ new neighbor, dressed a bit too formally for a public high school, looking out of place seated at the worn, old table. When he noticed Magnus, he stood quickly, though he didn’t look as surprised as Magnus felt. Ragnor must have warned him in advance. It figures Ragnor wouldn’t have told Magnus. He’d heard Magnus rant at their chosen-family dinner the night before about how annoying his new neighbor was, who moved into the old Lightwood house. Typical Ragnor.

Still, Magnus kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. The house had never been for sale, meaning it likely was passed down to a relative. The newsletter last week mentioned a new teacher joining the staff. He’d thought he was free of the wretched Lightwoods, but fate insisted on keeping Magnus at a baseline level of annoyance.

“Lightwood?” Magnus raised an eyebrow, attempting to smooth over his surprise with an air of half-baked curiosity.    


“Gideon was my uncle, yes.”

“Again Alec, we as a faculty are incredibly sorry for your loss,” Ragnor dipped his head.  _ Bullshit _ , Magnus thought to himself. Ragnor hated Gideon as much, if not more than Magnus did. He himself once said that it couldn’t be helped. Gideon was just the name of someone who was easy to hate. 

“It’s fine, really.” Alec nodded uncomfortably. Magnus couldn’t tell if this was just Alec’s so-determined social awkwardness, but he didn’t seem very fond of his Uncle Gideon. If he wasn’t, that was a good sign. Gideon was a homophobic asshole, who floated just enough under the radar to not get booted by the school board. Magnus made a note to ask Alec more about the subject later.

“Well I shall leave you two to it!” Ragnor declared with altogether too much cheer. 

“So you are Gideon’s nephew?” Magnus said before he stopped himself. So much for asking later.

“Distant, yes. My dad’s cousin, not his brother.”

“Apologies, that was rude of me to blurt out like that.” Magnus feebly pointed to the coffee pot, and the dubious black sludge in its glass carafe. “I’m low on caffeine. Normally it fortifies my manners.”

“I completely understand. I learned the hard way that there is nowhere to get an espresso at 6:00 AM in this town.”

“Ah yes, the Lake Lynn Cafe is more of a meeting spot and less of a functional coffee shop.”

“They should really update their hours online then...” Alec said with an air of distaste.

“I’m not sure where you came from, Alexander, but things work differently here in Brocelind. Slower, more quiet. Perhaps you should invest in a Moka pot.”

“A… what?”

“A stove top espresso maker?” Magnus quipped. “Named after the Yemini city of Mocha?” Magnus tutted. “For a history teacher who claims to have quite the caffeine addiction, you don’t seem to know much about the history of coffee culture.”

“I’m an American history teacher,” Alec clarified.

“U.S history you mean.” Magnus corrected haughtily. “ _ America _ is the combination—”

“Of both continents, yes.” Alec said curtly. “Before law school, I did a double major in history. Just because I ended up a lawyer doesn’t mean I forgot what I learned.” Alec said defensively, but instead of backing it with aggression, it was backed by pride, as if he was trying to convince himself of his competence just as much as he was Magnus. “Why don’t I brew us some coffee in this…” Alec carefully picked up the communal coffee pot, holding it up to the light to examine the burnt-in brown scale on the bottom, “Is this even safe to use?”

Magnus shrugged.

“I’ll make a pot and we can get on with the orientation stuff Principal Fell left.” Alec gestured to the pile of papers with a nod before going to tackle the temperamental break-room sink and fickle drip coffee maker.

Magnus read through the checklist Ragnor left, crossing off all the boxes as he explained everything about Brocelind Plains High to Alec. The infernal coffee pot dinged and Alec hopped up, quickly pouring two steaming styrofoam cups of black coffee.

“I don’t think there’s any creamer left,” Alec frowned apologetically as he sat the coffee in front of Magnus. He tossed a few packets of various sweeteners on the table, pushing them over to Magnus.

“I”m not surprised,” Magnus murmured, letting the bitter aroma wake him up. They sat there in silence for a moment, the comfortable, planned rhythm of their checklist-discussion broken by the caffeinated disruption. “We’re a public school, the budget is a bit tight. Everything in here is bought by the teachers, same with the supply closets, for the most part. Count that as your first orientation lesson. If you take something, buy at least enough to replace it.”

Magnus’ sudden outburst and streak of condescension had startled Alec. Judging by Alec’s shiny Maserati, and Tom Ford dress shirt, he wasn’t used to working with a tight budget. The faculty was not going to suffer at the expense of a spoiled rich boy. Magnus wanted to snuff out any possibility of that right off the bat.

“I’m from New York by the way.” Alec shifted in his seat, his long legs barely fitting under the old table.

“We are in New York,” Magnus said flippantly, pouring a packet of sugar into his coffee.

“Do you have to be like that?” Alec sipped the steaming hot coffee with no regard for it’s scalding temperature. Even for a seasoned coffee drinker, it was an act of dominance. It was a stark contrast to the bumbling, more nervous demeanor Alec had when they’d met on his front porch.

“Like what?” Magnus played dumb.

“You know what I mean. You bicker, you poke, you dig. Are you what, hazing me?”

“Perhaps,” Magnus looked away, fiddling with his ear cuff. He glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes more of this, until he could retreat to his class.

“You’re worried I’m like him, aren’t you?” Alec said bluntly.

“Do you blame me? The man was a tyrant. Always trying to keep things back in the stone age, fighting the administration at every turn. Not to mention his  _ personal beliefs, _ ” Magnus groaned, remembering the detestable old man.

“I know. And you’re fair in thinking that. Most of the Lightwoods are exactly like him— condescending zealots. Except for my sister, and my brothers,” He paused, taking a sip of coffee. “And me, I hope.” He looked up through his dark, fluffy eyelashes, looking like a storybook prince. It was unfair for someone to look that gorgeous before noon, and worse, for them to be such an unwelcome disruption to Magnus’ day. Just one glance from the boy, and Magnus felt on the verge of blushing. He wished he’d gone with full-coverage foundation in the morning— his lightweight tinted moisturizer would do nothing to hide his blush.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Magnus tried to snap, but he couldn’t help but smile at Alec. “Back to business. I am the advisor for the Chemistry club, the GLSEN group, and the Brocelind Plains Pagan Alliance. Oh, and I help do choreography for the glee club, cheer and dance teams.”   


“And I have to shadow you for… all of those?” He stared at the monthly schedule Magnus had heavily marked over for him, outlining club meetings, events, performances, and staff meetings. There was barely a blank square for the entire month. Not even the weekends were safe.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Magnus said with more than a hint of diminutive sass.

“No, it’s just… a lot.” Alec shuffled through his own pile of papers, rearranging them neatly in his complementary Brocelind Plains Highschool folder, looking fully overwhelmed.

“All my friends work in this school.” Magnus shrugged. “And I like to keep busy.”

“I do too. I mean, I moved here to…” Alec paused, biting his lip. “ …slow down a bit, but I don’t want to just sit around doing nothing. I want to be useful.”

“Good, you won’t be. Because in addition to all of that, we have to chaperone the dance next Friday. The theme is _ Fairytale Dreams _ .” Magnus said with a Cheshire smile. Alec looked all but defeated at the mention of a dance. “So clear your calendar, Alexander, because you’re going to be spending the entire evening in a cloud of body spray, glitter, and teen hormones, listening to top-40 music that will make you feel incredibly old.”

The rest of the day went by without too much excitement, Alec interrupting him once between classes to figure out where his hall pass booklet was, and another time to confirm that students were allowed to have their phones in class, to which Magnus assured him that it was 2020, and there would be absolutely no way to stop them from using phones. After that last interruption, Magnus had reluctantly given Alec his phone number so that he could text him stupid questions instead of walking to Magnus’ classroom.

When he finally got home, he poured himself a glass of Merlot, made truffle popcorn, and opted to eat chocolate instead of dinner. He set up a tray on the coffee table to do his nails, changed into his best lounge wear, and got comfortable. When he turned on the tv, he realized he’d made it— Jeopardy had just started. The soothing voice of Alex Trebek droned the category names, the contestants sat there in eager anticipation. When he read out the first question— or  _ answer _ as Ragnor always pointed out when they watched together— Magnus scoffed at how easy the answer was.

“ _ This neighborhood in New York City is nicknamed for it’s unique location surrounding the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges.” _

* * *

_In the Lightwood House_

_ “ _ What is: DUMBO?” Alec said to the T.V.

“Dumbo? Are you already so bored out there that you’ve resorted to weird old Disney movies?” Jace scoffed.

“I’m not. It’s an answer on Jeopardy. Dumbo: Down under the Manhattan Bridge overpass. It’s a neighborhood in Brooklyn.”

“Oh, isn’t that the place you took Izzy to for her birthday last year? You know, where you could see both bridges at once?”

“Yes. The one where you conveniently forgot your credit card and I had to pay for both of you. Anyway, why did you call? You know I always watch Jeopardy at 7:00.” Alec’s cat Church bunted the phone, purring and chirping loudly into the speaker. He probably missed Alec’s siblings.

“We wanted to know how your first day at school went!” Izzy yelled, too close to the speaker.

“Wait, am I on speaker phone?” Alec said with a slightly annoyed tone.

“You always are, bro,” Jace reasoned. “So how is school when you’re on the other side of the glass?” Unlike Alec, Jace had gone to a real school before the Lightwoods took him in and home-schooled him along with the other children.

“It’s not prison, Jace.” Alec rolled his eyes. “It was fine. But, uh, Magnus teaches there.”

“Your neighbor Magnus? The creepy one who stared at us through the blinds when I helped you move?”

“You make him sound like a peeping Tom,” Izzy laughed. “Wait,  _ is _ he a peeping Tom?” She giggled more.

“There’s not much funny about it. He was assigned as my orientation advisor, and I have to shadow him until I get the hang of things at the school. I even have to chaperone a dance with him.”

“Look at my big brother, having a date to the prom,” Izzy cooed.   
  
“It’s not a date— I legitimately think we are just there to make sure the students keep their clothes on and don’t get drunk.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to a  _ real _ high school dance. The kind from TV that we never got to have.”

“Iz, it’s not—” Alec started.

“We have to start strategizing  _ now _ ,” she commanded. “So what’s the theme?”

“Ugh,” Alec groaned, defeated. “Fairytale Dreams.”


	3. Chapter 3

Magnus leaned against the cool industrial tile wall of the gym, watching lines of students enter the dance— some in pairs, some in groups, and a few poor, unfortunate souls by themselves. Kids were so uncreative these days. They had no respect for a theme. Most of the girls were at least dressed in colorful poofy-skirted taffeta, tight bodice dresses with some sorry excuse for fairytale accessories. Unicorn horn headbands and tiaras abounded, with a few outliers delicately carrying glittering toy wands that would be immediately discarded on the bleachers.

The drama kids hadn’t arrived yet. They were the only ones Magnus had any hope for. Not that they would be anywhere near his level though. Magnus’ warlock costume was impeccable— if he said so himself. Basing it off the lore that warlocks were half demon, half human, and usually had one characteristic ‘mark’ to show they were magical, he wore cat-eye contact lenses. They were a bright chartreuse, a call to his own more muted gold-green eyes, but they fully obfuscated his pupil, making it appear to be a narrow slit. His hair was spiked high, and was covered in enough blue glitter that, under the dim and pulsating lights of the dance, he looked like he was glowing. Add it to the hodgepodge layers of extravagant fashion that could only be worn by someone who’d lived through their fair share of centuries, he was certainly in the running for best costume. Except he wasn’t, because he was a faculty chaperone, and not a student.

_ Speaking of chaperones, _ he thought to himself, scanning the room. Lightwood hadn’t showed up yet.  _ Alexander _ , he corrected himself. It wasn’t fair to call him by his last name, the name that he shared with grumpy old Gideon. After doing some irresistible snooping, Magnus had found Alec even shared his middle name with the old bag.  _ Alexander Gideon Lightwood.  _ It somehow made the name sound elegant instead of making Magnus’ skin crawl.  _ If Gideon could see me now, _ Magnus smirked. He could only imagine the insults the homophobic, biphobic, racist asshole could have thrown at him for this get up. In a way, Magnus was a bit sad he was gone. It was always fun to piss off the homophobes.

Magnus looked toward the gym doors again, with no purpose other than to just scan the room, but his timing was impeccable. A tall, slender figure was pushing his way awkwardly through the crowd, towering over the teens.  _ Should I help him? _ Magnus thought to himself. In all honesty, he’d been rude enough to Alec already by not offering to drive to the dance together. Or walk, like Magnus had— it was a perfect, crisp, fall night after all. Wasn’t that what nice neighbors were supposed to do? But Magnus was being anything but a model neighbor. He felt bad about it, and with every day of seeing Alexander, it felt worse. But was it too late now? After giving such a sour impression this first week?

“Magnus!” Alec yelled over the din, spotting him from a few feet away. He angled himself through the rest of the students, joining Magnus by the wall. “You look…” Alec’s voice trailed off. It could have just been the music, Magnus assured himself. Alec Lightwood did  _ not _ get one look at his outfit and go mute, and he  _ definitely _ didn’t blush.

“I take themes  _ very _ seriously, Alexander,” Magnus smirked. At the mention of his own name, Alec’s blush grew darker. There was no mistaking it now. Maybe he didn’t hate Magnus. Or maybe it was a hate crush. Or maybe the boy was just appreciating how objectively hot Magnus knew he was. 

“I can see that,” Alec swallowed awkwardly, looking away. “I wasn’t sure if we were dressing up, so I brought this,” he said, holding up one of the shopping bags he was carrying.

“I hope that’s not the same thing you brought over to my house in a grocery bag,” Magnus mock scolded, leaning in to whisper in Alec’s ear. “Because if you want to drink at these kind of things, you need to be a bit sneakier about it.” He tapped the flask hidden in his breast pocket, making the metal ring. Alec’s eyes went wide with surprise.

“What, no!” His eyes went wide and he shook his head, backing away as if to preemptively distance himself from scandal. “I’m not trying to get in trouble my first week here.”

“Please. It’s a small town. You’d be surprised at the things that students  _ and faculty _ can get away with here. People would rather look the other way than cause trouble. So if it’s not  _ beverages, _ what’s in the bag? Perhaps its something of the edible variet— ” Magnus started, but Alec cut him off. 

“It’s a costume.” Alec said bluntly. The dance had barely started, and Alec was already looking tired of Magnus’ antics. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

“This is a gym,” Magnus scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yes, I’m aware.” Alec angled uncomfortably toward the wall as a large group of students pushed past them, too busy on their phones to pay attention to where they were going.

“... so they have locker rooms,” Magnus deadpanned.

“I was home-schooled growing up. I’m still getting a hand of how this  _ public high school  _ thing works.”

“Home-schooled? In New York City?” Magnus said incredulously.

“It’s a short, boring story. Religious parents.” Alec looked around. “Can you point me to the locker rooms?”

“They’re along this wall, to the left. You will have to use your faculty key to open them from this side though. We keep them locked during dances for obvious reasons.” Magnus wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“But then where do kids go to the bathroom?”

“Down the hall by the cafeteria, in the bathroom that’s not full of hidden alcoves, showers, long benches, athletic supply closets, even the lockers…”

“Okay, I think I get it.”

“Those determined, horny, teenage rabbits still find a way, though!” Magnus called after Alec as he stalked away. 

When Alec returned, Magnus got a taste of his own medicine, his own jaw scraping the gym floor. He knew Alec was trim, and he’d caught a glimpse of his muscles when he was moving into the house, but it did nothing to prepare him for how the man would look in tights. Well, they were not  _ quite _ tights, but incredibly form-fitting, black utility pants— likely the closest thing to tights he’d ever see a respectable man in.

“I love a man in tights,” Magnus said before he thought better for it. Alec looked confused at the statement. “Robin hood? Men in tights?”

“Oh yeah, I only know the version of Robin Hood from the old fairy tales.”

“Really? Because this looks like a much more modern adaptation.”

“I didn’t pick it out, my sister did.” Alec pulled on the collar of the top, stretching it out around his neck, revealing the small z-shaped tattoo. He found himself wondering again what it stood for, or if it was his soulmark. If it was his soulmark, it would be odd. It was too small to be complete, yet the shape was too well defined to not look finished.  _ But why would a lawyer have a neck tattoo? _

“Well, your sister has exquisite taste.” Magnus drew his attention away from the tattoo, critiquing the details of the costume.

“Yeah, in everything except fake bows,” Alec sighed, flicking the plastic weapon behind him. “There aren’t even arrows in the quiver. She said that costume stores didn’t even sell fake arrows because apparently fake weapons aren’t even allowed.”

“That’s quite the opinion,” Magnus remarked, his tone challenging Alec to dive further into the narrative. The dance had officially started, and the lights dimmed, casting the room in uneven shadows as fairy lights and disco balls flashed and twinkled. The music grew louder, the bass pumping harder, and the students pressed closer together. Alec was too absorbed in his talk of weapons to notice, but Magnus was certain that once he did, he would be mortified. 

“I mean, plus, it’s a waste of money, you know?” A hint of a New York accent came out on the last two words. “I could have just brought my own, left the arrows at home…”

“You have your own bow?” Magnus’ eyes unconsciously dipped down to Alec’s arms, the muscles emphasized by the tight costume. Archery— that explained the unique, lean, muscle tone.

“Yeah, I uh…” Alec scratched the back of his head. “I’m an archer. I used to compete as a kid, but now I mostly just go to the range when I need to relax.” Even through the colored and filtered dim lighting in the gym, Magnus couldn’t miss the blush on Alec’s cheeks that came out as he revealed something personal. It was beyond endearing— it was charming.

“I didn’t even know archery ranges existed. It makes much more sense now that a group petitioned to start an archery club last year.”

“They did?” Alec said with genuine interest, his hazel eyes brightening with childhood-like glee.

“Yes, but they couldn’t find a teacher to be their sponsor,” Magnus paused. “You know what, I can start an email chain connecting you with the interested students. They were mostly sophomores last year I think, so juniors now. Some of them might be in one of your classes, actually.”

“You’d do that for me? That would be great. Ragnor said I had to take on an extracurricular, and I’d much rather it be archery than say, Latin Club.”

“Lucky for you, the Latin teacher has that one covered,” Magnus laughed. “Do you even speak Latin?”

“Unfortunately for my social life, yes, I do.”

“Well, welcome to Brocelind Plains High, Lightwood, where your new social life can begin,” Magnus said with mock reverence. He walked over to the punch table, ladling out two cups and passing one to Alec. “We are totally drinking this  _ just  _ to test it and make sure nobody spiked it, not for any other purpose,” Magnus winked and took a sip. Scanning the room, he made sure nobody was looking, before sliding the flask from his jacket and pouring about a shot’s worth into each cup.

“To us,” Magnus held out his cup for a toast.

“To us,” Alec said back, taking a sheepish sip.

They fell into a comfortable, companionable silence for a few songs, staring out at the crowd of sweaty, undulating teens. Alec was looking less uncomfortable with time, although the alcohol certainly was helping.

“I’m very glad you didn’t bring a real weapon, by the way. I can hide a hip flask, and you could even probably get away with showing up stoned, but a full-sized, legitimate weapon? That’s a bit harder to shove under the rug, even if your best friend is the principal.”

“Ragnor seems like the type of person I wouldn’t want to make angry,” Alec took a sip of his drink, and whether he was wincing at the overly-sugary taste of punch or the burn of the alcohol was anyone’s guess.

“You don’t, trust me. That nasty old cabbage really knows how to hold a grudge.” Alec laughed at the mention of Ragnor’s nickname, so Magnus threw him a warning glare that he hoped conveyed ‘ _ only call him that if you want to die, Lightwood.’ _ ”

“I think it’s nice, how you and all the teachers know each other so well. It reminds me of how it used to be, when my siblings and I were all interns at my family’s firm.” Alec’s voice suddenly felt a bit far away. Magnus swore he saw a hint of sadness behind Alec’s half-smile.

“A family law firm? That explains the  _ money _ car, then. Not very  _ Robinhood _ of you to have a Maserati, by the way. His whole thing was ‘steal from the rich, give to the needy’, not ‘ride into town in a Maserati, complain the break room doesn’t have a Keurig.’”

“How did you know I said that?” Alec looked at him incredulously. 

“You are not very quiet when you mumble abuse at the small appliances in the faculty lounge.”

They passed the majority of the evening like that, making offhand comments separated by long silences, until Ragnor made his rounds to hear reports from the chaperones. Unsatisfied with how little trouble the teachers had discovered so far, he ordered Alec and Magnus out to the football field, to keep watch in case any wayward teens wanted to stereotypically hang out underneath the bleachers. They made the trek through the parking lot and up the small hill to the field, climbing up the bleachers and taking a seat. 

Without the disarming din of the dance, the silence between them felt heavier, more difficult to breach. It surprised Magnus when Alec nudged him as he sipped from his flask, gesturing for a sip. For a while, they passed the flask back and forth in silence, spreading out on the cool metal bleachers and staring up at the stars.

“The car was the only thing I didn’t sell off.” Alec said quietly.

“What?” Magnus’ ears adjusted to the broken silence.   


“When I got booted from the firm. I sold my condo in the Meatpacking District, my Italian leather briefcase, my entire stock portfolio, and I even had to pay my parents back for a share in the family cabin.” he laughed dryly “And they made me give them back almost everything else.”

“You just… gave it all back?” Magnus propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his head in disbelief.

“It was better than arguing with them, having them put me down. A lot of things were technically in their names, or co-signed by them. The last thing I wanted to do was cause more trouble.” Alec motioned for the flask. Magnus handed it over quickly. “Or get sued.”

“Why did they kick you out of the family law firm?” Magnus asked.

“Because I wouldn’t get married,” Alec laughed. It was a dry, bitter sound.

“That’s absurd. Why would you  _ have _ to get married?” Magnus held out his hand and Alec passed the flask back. “It’s not some monarchy, you aren’t some crown prince or something… wait you’re not are you?” 

“No, I’m not. It’s just a law firm owned by a sycophantic family who believes that it’s not good for their image to have bachelors as partners at the firm, or 28 year olds who haven’t made partner yet.”

“My point exactly! It’s a business, they’re being unreasonable on both counts. I’m sure you more than deserved to be a partner, even without a partner,” Magnus laughed at his own pun, but Alec somehow reached out with his long leg, lightly kicking Magnus from the bleacher above.

“It’s one in the same for them. Business, family, honor, tradition. But even if I did get married, if it was to someone I loved— like my soulmate— that wouldn’t have satisfied them.” Alec paused, scoffing to himself. “Actually, it did the exact opposite. It infuriated them.”

“Why?” Magnus asked, but he was almost certain he already knew the answer.

“Because I told them I would  _ only _ marry my soulmate,” Alec said matter-of-factly.

That wasn’t exactly the answer Magnus was expecting. 

“So they’re not soulmark believers? Your parents aren’t soulmates?” Magnus’ parents had been soulmates, but he’d never seen what their relationship was like together. His mother died when he was young, and all he had to go off of were romanticized stories by his father Asmodeus. He knew the pair had been in love, and it sounded like a fairytale, but with the way his father was— at least how he was to Magnus— he was almost certain there were darker details his father was leaving out. It left Magnus with a more or less realistic version of the soulmate phenomenon. He was a bit of a romantic, a bit of a skeptic. He believed that marks do signify a strong connection, but they don’t promise a pure happily ever after.    


“They’re not, and they aren’t. To them, soulmarks are viewed more as a curse than a blessing. They believe the marks were created by demonic magic that goes against their religion. My dad went so far as to have his mark removed.”

“That’s brutal, they didn’t try to get you to do that, did they?” It sounded barbaric. Magnus heard of soulmark removal. It wasn’t as simple as removing a tattoo. The procedure either involved removing the area of skin, creating a graft, and stitching it up, or burning the skin into an unrecognizable, bumpy scar.

“Actually, my dad tried, since to him, finding my soulmate would finally confirm once and for all that everything he hates about me is true. He didn’t want to give it a chance to grow. The idea of marrying me off, making me partner, and having me conform to his idea of success became like a disease to him. He even went one step further, signing me up with an elite matchmaker to ‘speed up the process’. It’s ten times worse than it sounds, I promise.”

“And what about you is true, Alexander?” There was a pause.

“I’m gay,” Alec said, sounding matter-of-fact and unashamed. 

“Let me get this straight—” Magnus giggled, betraying his attempts to appear sober. “Well not,  _ straight _ but— anyway,” He wheeled. “Your father kicked you out of the family company, took away all your money, and fully disowned you… all because you wouldn’t enter a sham marriage for the family-slash-business image? Based on… some kind of religion they follow?”

“A cult really, they worship angels. Every time you pass some spiritual milestone, or complete some type of trial, they give you a new tattoo— a  _ rune _ as they call it. And they’re done by hand in a more refined stick-and-poke method. It hurts like hell.”   


“Ah, that explains the homeschooling,” Magnus reached over to poke Alec in the neck. “And the neck tattoo.”

“This is my first time being so far from family, actually. Our house in New York is in a converted church, and they used the chapel for…  _ worship _ … with their friends. Then I went to NYU, followed by Columbia Law, started at the family firm, and moved into a three-bedroom condo with my brother and sister. The property was in my name, but my parents owned my mortgage, which I didn’t know since they used a shell company.”

“So when they made you sell it back to them, they also kicked out your siblings?”

“Through proxy, yes. They’re living with their significant others,or couch surfing. Anything but living at home. I thought that maybe if I left the city completely, it would make things easier for them. Plus, it’s not like I could get a job anywhere good enough to afford living in the city. I have no letters of rec, and it looks terrible to be fired from your family firm.”

“How would people know you were fired unless they asked?” Magnus passed the flask back to Alec, who drank eagerly.

“My parents have  _ friends _ everywhere.” Alec opened his arms wide for emphasis. “I’m lucky I wasn’t disbarred, actually,” he laughed dryly, bitterly. “I still might be. I bet they wouldn’t even tell me, intercept the mail or phone calls, so that if I took up law again, I wouldn’t know until I try to go to court. They’re incredibly calculating, and it tends to make their actions unimaginably hurtful.”

“They have that much power?” Magnus was partly impressed, but mostly infuriated that once again, rich people with power chose to wield it for good instead of evil. Typical.

“I dunno, probably,” Alec slurred, revealing the effects of just how much he’d had to drink, and explaining why the shy, reserved ex-lawyer had been so comfortable telling Magnus his entire life story. 

“Why don’t you open your own practice in town? I’m sure the salary would be better than a public school teacher.”

“I hated being a lawyer. I don’t like being under stress. I don’t like arguing.” Alec paused. “I like helping people. I basically taught my younger siblings everything since the tutor my parents hired was awful. I was always looking out for them. Teaching makes me feel like I can do that every day.”

“That is the sappiest reason I ever heard.”

“Why are  _ you _ a teacher?” Alec fired back defensively.

“Because all my friends are, and I was getting tired of the pollution in New York. It’s terrible for my skin— promotes wrinkles.”

“Bullshit,” Alec said, his tone flat and disarming. Magnus felt seen— caught in a lie he’d barely realized he told.

“Fine,” Magnus acquiesced, his tone a bit dry. He fiddled with a loose golden thread in his shirt, twisting the filament between his fingers in a grounding, soothing motion. “I had a bad break-up. I used to be the lead chemist at a high-end cosmetics company. Bridged the gap between the business and the scientists, et cetera. I was even in a few modeling campaigns, believe it or not.”

“Oh I believe it, you’re a walking billboard for makeup.”

“Gee, thanks,” Magnus said sarcastically

“No! In a good way!” Alec sat up, looking at Magnus with pleading eyes. He looked genuinely concerned that he’d hurt Magnus— even from such a trivial, offhand remark. It was a rare quality in people, that deep, quiet consideration. It felt oddly like a warm hug, and Magnus wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “I mean I think you could make anyone want to buy it. My sister will love you.”

Magnus didn’t miss the word choice:  _ will  _ in place of  _ would _ . It probably meant nothing, though. They were neighbors. If his sister ever visited Alec, she would essentially be visiting Magnus as well— at least in passing.

“Anyway. Ragnor used to teach at a private school in the city, but when he found out that his old high school was in need of a principal, he took the position, bringing with him his soulmates Catarina and Dorothea,”

“Two soul mates? How does that work?” Alec’s brow furrowed in confusion as he did mental gymnastics trying to figure out something that, in all honesty, couldn’t be logically comprehended. Soulmarks couldn’t be defined by science or reason.

“Beats me.” Magnus shrugged. “And then where Ragnor goes, Raphael follows, since I think he’s the only person Raphael socially tolerates except for his soulmate Simon.” Magnus’ voice lowered, turning somber.. “Plus, Raphael’s last relative in his old neighborhood had recently passed, so he needed a change too.” 

“Are all the teachers at Brocelind Plains High dating?!” Alec’s hazel eyes went wide.

“Well Simon and Raphael are married, not dating,” Magnus corrected, poking Alec in the side. Alec flinched away from the touch just enough to reveal he was ticklish— something even Magnus wouldn’t dare explore while someone was drunk, unless he wanted to cause mutual injury or projectile vomiting.

“Simon is the Physics teacher, right?”

“And Raphael is the Spanish teacher.” Magnus said. Alec made a face. “I know, they’re an odd couple.”

“Sorry, I derailed your story.” Alec nudged Magnus, his eyes going soft. “All your friends moved here to be teachers, then what?”

“So that left me alone in the city with only Camille. Camille and I lived together, worked together, slept together, and without my friends in the city, we spent all of our free time together,” Magnus paused, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Until she didn’t. She would go out, leave me alone. I didn’t know how badly she was treating me until one day I came home from getting groceries— I was only gone for twenty minutes— and when I returned she was in bed with the Russian ballet coach from down the hall.”

“So she wasn’t your soulmate?”

“No. She didn’t believe in that kind of thing either. She didn’t even have a soulmark. It was fitting. Because she didn’t have a soul either.”

“That’s not true, some people’s just don’t show up at all until they meet the right person,” Alec explained.

“Well what about you? Do you count yourself among the soulmark-less? I suppose not, since your father wanted yours removed.”   


“Me? No, and thankfully I didn’t listen to my father and have mine removed.” Alec blushed— something Magnus was realizing the man did more than frequently— and averted his gaze. “You?”

“I have been _ blessed _ with this frustratingly-barely-curved line my whole life, unfortunately. It clashes horribly with most of my outfits and mostly just looks like I accidentally drew on myself with eyeliner.”

“Well I’m sure one day, when you meet the right … woman?” the question hung on Alec’s voice. “...your soulmark will grow into something just as beautiful as you are.” Magnus tingled at the complement, but he blamed it on the alcohol and brushed it off.

“Bold of you to assume my soulmate would be a woman, Alexander,” Magnus teased.

“I didn’t mean to—”   


“I’m just messing with you. It’s fine. I’d just figured you’d heard through the infamous Brocelind Plains Gossip wheel by now that I’m a flamboyantly freewheeling bisexual. The rumors are all true— I started most of them myself. Except the one about the dinner plate, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t ask. Anyway, where were we… Oh! Do you want to see my mark? The one I was complaining about?”

“Sure.” 

Magnus shrugged out of his fancy costume jacket, stripping down to just his billowing, burgundy silk shirt. He unbuttoned the cuff, rolling it up to his elbow. 

“See, it’s boring.” Magnus looked down at it. In the light, it looked longer than it had the day before. And a bit more curved. But he was drunk. He had to be— even the bleachers were starting to look a bit wavy.  _ Yeah, that’s definitely it _ . “Now, I show you mine, you show me yours,”

“Mine’s in the same place as yours, that’s funny,” Alec smiled, rolling up his sleeve to reveal what looked like the beginning of… it couldn’t be. It was three lines that looked oddly like the beginning of a molecule. One line meeting two, an arrow with the tip reversed. One third of a hexagon, with a line trailing outward.

“Wow, yours is… ” Magnus leaned in closer to get a better look. 

“It’s always been this way,” Alec said quickly, almost uncomfortably.

“It’s much bigger than mine, which trust me, is  _ not  _ something I say often.” Magnus grasped Alec’s forearm, turning it sideways to get a better look in the half-lit stadium lights, trying to guess what compound it was. If it was a chemical structure.  _ Which it didn’t have to be, why would it be? _ Magnus couldn’t parse exactly why his brain felt so confused and emotional. He wasn’t a crying drunk.

“Why, because you’re trapped here in a small town where Grindr is completely dead?” Alec snorted.

“It’s not dead! I saw one person on there the other day!” Magnus retorted, smacking Alec playfully on the shoulder.

“It was me! I was the other person. Didn’t you notice that it said I was only 50 feet away? We are the last two houses on the street!”

“Well maybe some other hot guy who  _ only _ posts pics from the waist down and goes by just ‘ _ archerboyA’ _ was hanging out in the woods, just out there finding himself.” 

They laughed so hard that somehow they tumbled together, a crash of tipsy bodies rolling and falling into the crack between two rows of bleachers, meeting in the middle. Magnus felt Alec’s arms protectively wrap around him as they tumbled, something he half hoped was a reflex and half hoped was more personal. How did he get there? Earlier today, he hated Alec, but here he was, laughing to the point of injury, tangled together in the bleachers like teenagers, just in a  _ slightly _ more platonic way.

“Mr. Bane?” A voice squeaked, followed by the crashing sound of broken glass. 

“And is that… the new history teacher?” Another voice piped in.

“ _ Busted, _ ” Magnus whispered to Alec from within their bubble, who was looking far too pale. 

“The one and only!” Magnus rolled to his feet with what he hoped was a modicum of grace, even if he did have to lean on the railing for support. He knew  _ exactly _ how this must look to them, the two teachers laying incredibly close, arms wrapped around each other. He’d have to make quick, creative work of saving face.

“The two and only, actually,” Alec groaned, pulling himself up from the crevice. He was all limbs, tangled in the metal of the bleachers— it was remarkable he was able to get up at all.

“Great, not suspicious at all, Lightwood, definitely something a sober person would say,” Magnus whispered under his breath, too quiet for the students to hear.

“You said it didn’t matter if we were caught,” Alec said with a bit of panic.

“It doesn’t, if you’re not stupid about it.” Magnus spat. Any magic that had been there moments before was gone. Down the gutter just like the student’s shattered bottle of whiskey far too expensive for her to have. That was it— Magnus found his in.

“You have fabulous taste in Bourbon, Cynthia.” Magnus tutted, sliding through the gap in the railing and landing on the concrete in front of the students. “Mm, the twelve year? You simply must try the 18. It’s far superior. The 20 though,” Magnus tsked. “A bit overrated if you ask me.”

“Uh, yeah, totally?” Her voice wavered. Magnus swore she was shaking enough for the ruffled hem of her mermaid dress to flutter— or maybe it was the wind, and Magnus had been too distracted to notice the weather.

“Now, I’m not so sure where you were going with that, but if I wasn’t mistaken, I think you were on your way home, weren’t you? On your way  _ walking _ home?” Magnus said suggestively. Both students nodded, leaving in a relieved flurry of goodbyes and thank yous.

“That’s it, you’re just going to let them off like that? They stole alcohol from their parents, probably drank some before they got here, and snuck into the football field? You should tell the principal.”

“Alright,  _ narc _ , go tell the principal on yourself too then. Throw me off the plank while you’re at it. We can all go down together: a small town, half-drunk by moonlight, gay Titanic of sorts.”

“Okay, I see your point,” Alec sighed. Realizing he couldn’t slide easily through the railing like Magnus did, he stood up and walked the long way down the bleacher stairs. Without one of them talking, Magnus realized how quiet it was. No more music drifted from the gymnasium, he couldn’t even hear any cars going down the street. 

“It’s getting late,” Magnus remarked. “We can probably call it a night.”

“Will you be okay getting home?” Alec asked.

“Me? Yeah, I walked here. I’ll be fine. You? I mean I know I said that whole ‘half-drunk by moonlight’ thing, but you, my fellow educator, are undeniably sauced.”

“I probably… shouldn’t drive.” Alec nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, I kinda already snatched your keys from your pocket after your fifth sip from the flask.” Magnus held up the Maserati keys. 

“Five sips? Really? That’s where you drew the line for me?”

“Really, really, Alexander  _ Lightweight. _ ” Magnus skipped a few paces ahead of Alec, much more nimble on his tipsy feet than the drunken giraffe behind him. “Now come on— let’s walk home. I’m pretty sure we’re going the same way.”

The walk home was mostly spent making sure Alec didn’t trip on the old town’s aging sidewalks, and giving him a basic overview of the turns they were taking that he would likely not remember in the morning. It was all shallow small talk, nothing like their conversations on the bleachers. When they finally parted ways, Magnus left Alec at the front gate to the Lightwood house without ceremony, just giving him a simple wave. 

“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus walked away quickly— almost missing the way Alec awkwardly said goodbye in return. What he didn’t miss was the percussive sound of Alec puking into his dead uncle’s prized white hydrangea bushes. Magnus smirked at the poetic justice of Gideon’s gay nephew, getting drunk on the job, stumbling home with none other than Magnus Bane, and puking in the award-wining shrubs. As Magnus turned the key to his front door, his sleeve splayed open— he’d never re-fastened the button.

It must have been the long shadows from the lone streetlamp, or perhaps some of his heavy costume makeup smeared on his arm, because his soulmark looked impossibly longer, nearly half of a semicircle arc. But it couldn’t be— he dismissed any thoughts, prioritizing instead getting inside, showering off the filth of a school dance, and flopping into bed with Chairman Meow. He had an appointment for a solid, well-earned, twelve-hour sleep, and no rumination over soulmarks, Lightwoods, or high-school drama would dare get in his way.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the first period after lunch hour, and despite the bell ringing over two minutes ago, Magnus’ classroom was still buzzing with the excited squealing voices of teenage girls in the middle of a very serious gab session.

_ “Yeah, the tattoo on Mr. Lightwood’s neck isn’t his soulmark,” _

_ “A teacher with a neck tattoo? Hot,”  _

_ “Ew, more like trashy.” _

_ “If that mister tall, dark and handsome is trash, then I volunteer as the dumpster.” _

_ “You already  _ **_are_ ** _ a dumpster, Sandra,” _

_ “Well at least I  _ **_have_ ** _ a dumpster, Tiffany,” _

_ “She’s talking about her butt, Tiffany,” _

_ “Yeah, Laura, I got that,” _

“Girls! Now I love to gossip as much as you do, but gossip is for Manicure Mondays.” Magnus pointed behind him at a poster for the actual event. Every other Monday, after school, he hosted a manicure night, providing all of his best polishes and tools for the students. Manicures were expensive, and high school was a bloodbath of slander about personal appearance. The least he could do was make sure every student had an equal opportunity in hand glamour. He single handedly introduced Evan Parsons to dark purple nail polish, which helped him snag a date with Melissa Vartres, so yeah— Magnus was a hero. “I think you can wait a few more hours, yes?”

“Yes Mr. Bane,” they said in defeated unison.

The girls were bold-faced liars, Magnus soon-after discovered, as he caught them dead in the act: passing notes. Honestly, he didn’t even want to disturb their archaic ritual. He was nearly floored by the fact that his phone-addicted students still passed notes. Did they learn how to do it organically, or did they see it in some old high-school movie and think it was cool to emulate? Unfortunately, though, they were not being discreet about it, and if his authority as a teacher was to stay intact, he had to at least call them out on it. 

“I’ll take that,” Magnus strut forward, dropping where he was mid lecture with absolutely no warning or ceremony to intercept the tiny, over-folded piece of torn notebook paper as Beatriz tried to pass it to Laura.

“Mr. Bane, really, it’s nothing—” Tiffany chimed in quickly.

“You should read up on the term ‘self-incrimination’,” Magnus tutted. “Does anyone else want to fess up? Hmm?”

The girls went mum.

“Technically, I could send you all to the principal’s office for a nice helping of detention, but you know how I hate involving the feds, so I think the obvious solution here is to subject you to the court of public opinion.”

“Mr.Bane?” Jeremy Reynolds, a small-for-his-age boy with freckles and a thick crown of curly hair chirped, raising his hand high. Magnus made a mental note later to look up if that kid had skipped a grade—  _ why had he never thought of that before? _

“Jeremy, you are aware that raising your hand while calling out voids the gesture?” Magnus said, his voice coming out a bit harsher than he intended.

“Yes but we have a quiz tomorrow, and I just think we are wasting time—”

“The quiz tomorrow will be open-book,” Magnus declared, hiding his smirk. It was just an early-present to the students. The quiz was always going to be open-book— they just didn’t know it. “Everyone, say ‘t _ hank you Jeremy _ ,’” he said in a sing-song tone.

“Thank you Jeremy,” the collective classroom voice droned.

“So. The court of public opinion is now in session.” Magnus cleared his throat, hopping up to sit cross-legged on top of his lab table.“The girls, some of which I assume choose to remain anonymous, were caught passing notes in the class. We are here to assess if whatever they had to say was important enough to take their attention away from my riveting lecture on carbon rings. Girls— how do you plead?”

“Huh?” One of them spoke up.

“Ugh,” Magnus pinched his nose. Sometimes he forgot who he was dealing with. Teenagers often lost the plot with his flamboyant antics and air for theatrics. Most of them also had an abysmal vocabulary, for which he blamed the internet. “Do you think that what you wrote in this,” he clarified and held up the piece of paper, “was worth all of this?” He gestured to the classroom.

“Can we just maybe have detention instead?” Tiffany said meekly.

“Tiffany, shut up!” Beatriz seethed. “If I get detention, my parents will ground me and I won’t be able to go to the dance!” 

“But—” Tiffany stammered.

“Interesting,” Magnus drew out the word dramatically. “This must be some  _ very  _ juicy gossip. I’ll take that to mean that you believe it was worth it. Well class, let’s see.”

Magnus made a show of unfolding the paper, flattening it out as best as possible. Before reading it out loud to the class, he read the message to himself. Immediately, he realized he’d made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

> _ Did you see Mr.Lightwood in first period history today??-S _
> 
> _ OFC we already talked about it at the beginning of class smh -L _
> 
> _ YES! Omg but when he rolled up his sleeves, I saw his soulmark!-S _
> 
> _ But we already saw it the first week of class when the AC was broken and he had to wear a t-shirt.- T _
> 
> _ No! It was bigger! It was just one line before, and now it’s like, a whole shape! -S _
> 
> _ WHO IS HIS SOULMATE?? -T _
> 
> _ He’s new to town, it could be anyone… -B _
> 
> _ I think it’s me, I totally brushed his hand when in my late homework.-T _
> 
> _ STFU I can’t deal with that shit, it’s probably someone in town, maybe Clary from the cafe?-S _
> 
> _ No, that doesn’t seem right. What about Meliorn from the flower shop?-L _
> 
> _ You think Mr. Lightwood is gay?-T _
> 
> _ I think anyone can be gay, T, they don’t have to be stereotyped…-L _
> 
> _ Maybe it’s another teacher…-S _
> 
> _ OMFG what if it’s Magnus.-L _
> 
> _ We HAVE to see his soulmark now!!!!!!! -T _

Magnus swallowed dryly. The room suddenly felt very warm, a sweat rising to his skin. Normally he’d roll up his sleeves to cool off, but he can’t— not now. He can’t give the gossipy girls what they want— a view of his soulmark. Suddenly, Manicure Monday felt like a terrible idea. There was no way he could paint people’s nails without rolling up his shirtsleeves. He was being ridiculous. He couldn’t avoid them seeing it forever. He’d never been shy about his soulmark before, so it would be weird and downright cringe-worthy to start being dodgy now, since the girls knew exactly what he’d just read. As his mind continued to race, it became uncomfortably silent in the classroom. 

He was saved by the bell— well more like the alarm. The fire alarm blared, an angel of the lord blaring it’s trumpet and rolling in on a golden chariot to rescue him from this nightmare. He’d forgotten that today was the quarterly fire drill.

“Everyone! You know the  _ drill _ ,” Magnus emphasized, his pun met with a groan. “Single file, down the hall, toward the baseball diamond. Stop at the edge of the woods.”

Eventually, the class made the pilgrimage out of the building and into the crisp fall early- afternoon. The baseball diamond was just on the edge of the school property, with Brocelind forest encroaching closer inward each year. A thick layer of orange-red leaves covered the grass where Magnus stood, not yet crunchy but drying around the edges, emitting the balmy smell of autumnal decomposition. He took a deep breath, trying to drown out the far-off drone of the fire alarm and let nature calm his nerves.

His students chattered behind him, but he didn’t correct them. He thought it was stupid that students were expected to be quiet during drills. What else were they supposed to do standing outside for so long? These were some of their formative social years. He wasn’t going to starve them of the opportunity for idle conversations with their friends, as long as they weren’t during class. For the duration of the drill, though, all of that was on pause. The students had no work to do, and his only responsibility was to raise up a green sign when the principal walked around to check for attendance. He could breathe, just be, try to let the simplicity of the moment calm him. 

So caught up was he, that he didn’t realize another class joined them— incredibly late, in terms of the drill standard— standing only a few yards away. It was then Magnus remembered who he usually passed these drills with, why this one felt unusually peaceful. It was Lightwood’s history class. At least this time, it was  _ Alec _ Lightwood’s history class, and not Gideon’s, but for what Alexander made up in personality, he countered with personal anxiety for Magnus. It all rushed back— the soulmark, the notes, the claims from the students, the fact that Magnus swore his own soulmark had grown. 

The last one, for which, he’d been in complete and utter denial, until now. When he saw Alec’s soulmark after the dance, it surely hadn’t been one line. It had been three. But were the three lines he’d seen what the girls were talking about? They’d said a  _ shape _ . Magnus had a near irresistible urge to investigate, made worse by the fact that Alexander was right there, about 20 feet away, 30 at the most. Magnus was bad with distance. It was why he was a chemist and not a mathematician or physics teacher. He wanted to look so badly, but he couldn’t, so he fixed his gaze forward, staring at the water tower and counting the flowers the art students had painted up there the year before.

“Uh, hey,” a familiar, disarmingly attractive, gravely voice startled him, accompanied by a hesitant tap on the shoulder.

“Alexander,” Magnus spun around. “Sorry, you startled me.”

“I was just wondering— do you have an extra one of those signaling cards? I think Ragnor is about to walk around this way, and I couldn’t find mine. I know that the teacher’s manual said I needed one, so I made the class wait, but—”

“No, it’s fine, we can share.” “That’s what orientation buddies are for, right? Let’s just stand in the middle of our two lines and hold up one sign.”

“Will Ragnor know that’s fine? He won’t think my class got consumed by the mock-fire?”

“He’ll get it if I come up with clever enough hand motions,” Magnus laughed. Alec looked immediately mortified. “What?”

“I’m just… not big on drawing attention to myself,” Alec grimaced.

“Well I hate to point out to you then, that you are essentially on stage all day, being judged by the most vicious critics in the world— teenagers.”

“I guess so, I mean it feels like less pressure than when I was in court though.”

“Court is just legal theatre, darling.”

“And I’m no actor,” Alec said in that blunt yet casual form of retort that was refreshingly smart. It seemed that when Alec was nervous, he was a bumbling mess, but beneath that gay disaster, there was actually an articulate, quick-witted man. It was almost infuriating how Alec managed to be hot both ways— the tiny irritation Magnus still harbored toward the new iteration of Mr. Lightwood itched at the thought. It was overpowered by the much more pleasant thought of how attractive Alexander was in general, and the fact that Magnus got to spend the remainder of the fire drill with a certified Adonis. 

The fire drill ended up lasting far longer than expected. A malfunction with the alarms meant the Fire Department would not sign off on the drill, and without the department’s sign-off, the school was not allowed to operate— they’d get the rest of the day off. Students got in, picked up their things, and all headed home. His only plans for the evening had been the student manicure club, so he resigned himself to a standard, self-indulgent evening of Jeopardy, a bubble bath, Indian takeout, and an entire bottle of sparkling almond wine. Unfortunately even those plans were derailed. 

When Magnus undressed before his bath, he noticed something in the mirror. His soulmark had grown to nearly double its size, the curved line stretching out to form a full semi-circle, and a line halfway stretching from the top of the circle downward. It looked suspiciously like a hunter’s bow.

Thankfully, the repairs at school took a second day to complete, so school was also cancelled for Tuesday, giving Magnus the perfect opportunity to hole up inside his home and avoid Alexander like the plague. It had to be Alexander. He hadn’t met any new people, and Alec was an archer. He oscillated between panic and denial, eating as much chocolate as his hands could manage when they weren’t busy furiously texting Catarina, Ragnor or Raphael— his three oldest and dearest friends. They all were thrilled— in their own way— that he met his soulmate, but Magnus couldn’t seem to match their excitement. He felt adrift, sick, his entire reality shifted. Meeting his soulmate in Brocelind Plains was something he’d considered impossible. Avoiding love was one of the reasons he’d moved there in the first place. But love found its way to him.

_Not_ _love_ , he reminded himself, _just his soulmate._ Soulmates usually fell in love, but it wasn’t a guarantee. To some, that thought might be disconcerting, but to Magnus, it was grounding, realistic even. It made him feel more in control of his own destiny. He didn’t want to open himself up to the possibility that this could be good. He’d been hurt too badly in the past by people he’d thought loved him, and of all people to be fated to, fate had to send Magnus a Lightwood. Because he was a Lightwood, Magnus had been nothing but a major ass to Alec since they’d met— it’s a miracle the man didn’t hate him. Or maybe he did. Magnus had no way of knowing how Alec was feeling about his own soulmark growing, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask.Magnus called out sick Wednesday, but Ragnor threatened to fire him if he skipped school just to avoid running into his soulmate. He assured Magnus there was plenty of space within the school to avoid one man, no matter how tall he was. He’d done a relatively solid job staying away from Alec, but fate interceded, as if it insisted on pointing out his soulmate to him again. Just one bump against the shoulder in a crowded hall, and Magnus’ mark grew by over an inch, completing the string on the bow. It was beautiful.

Even still, Magnus’ stubborn heart fought against it, hanging on to any possible threads of denial. What made it easier was that Alec made no effort to seek him out. No calls, no texts, no classroom visits, no notes in his teacher’s mailbox, not a knock on his front door. Whether it was a stalemate, a display of disinterest, or something else, Magnus didn’t care, and resigned himself not to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday morning in Brocelind Plains was never particularly eventful. In the summer, there was occasionally more noise— an early-bird gardener, or an overeager lawn mower— but in autumn, everything went even more still. The light rain tapping at Magnus’ windows, combined with a damp chill that nearly required burrowing into the blankets for warmth would normally be the perfect spell for sleeping past noon. Sleeping in was a luxury Magnus was rarely afforded, forced to get up early to not just arrive before the students, but to arrive sharply dressed and well-caffeinated. But he’d woken up nearly as early as a workday, and despite making an admirable effort, he couldn’t get back to sleep. 

He knew exactly why. By the same token, he wanted to forget why. If it was true— if Alexander was really his soulmate— his life was about to change. Based on their late-night conversation on the bleachers, Alec held soulmates in very high regard. In his words, he would only marry his soulmate.  _ Marriage, _ Magnus thought, a shiver unrelated to the chill rippling through his body. Pulling his gold silk sheets and plush duvet up under his chin, he stared up at the ceiling, counting the copper panels. It was one of the many original features he spent painfully arduous weekends restoring meticulously, along with all the woodwork, metalwork, and tile. Each arabesque and arc carried a special meaning, a memory of carefully removing it, removing the green oxidation, and bringing them as close as possible to their original state. 

Following the soothing pattern with his eyes was calming, near hypnotic, but even that couldn’t get his mind off of Alexander, his soulmark, and his future. Alec’s dreams of meeting his soulmate, marrying his soulmate didn’t account for his soulmate being Magnus. Camille’s icy words echoed in his head—  _ you’re too much _ . Was he more than Alec bargained for? There were plenty of stories of soulmates who hated each other, who by some cruel joke of fate didn’t mesh. Then there were the stranger stories, stories where two people assumed they were soulmates because their marks grew, when really it was their barista, their mail deliverer, or someone they barely noticed they’d been in contact with who’d activated the mark. 

Magnus started to go through the list again in his head, everyone he’d touched since he met Alec. The list was easy to go through— there was nobody. That was the downside of Brocelind Plains— if anyone new had shown up, everyone would have known. For better or for worse, there was just Alexander. Ever since he’d had the slightest suspicion that his soulmark had grown, Magnus fought against the idea of entertaining the notion that he’d met his soulmate. Even now that he knew it was the case, he was still at war, mobilizing all of his troops, pushing back any feelings he might be tempted to explore. But what if he let himself explore them? It would open him up to hurt— rejection. 

Then it occurred to him that being so guarded might hurt Alec more than it might hurt himself. From the moment Alec moved to town, Magnus had been unnecessarily cruel, biased and prejudiced against Alec based on an association with a relative Alec barely knew. At school, Magnus hadn’t made things particularly easy for him either, and he took a huge risk of getting him drunk at the dance. Ragnor wouldn’t have fired Magnus, but a teacher in their second week of classes? In retrospect, Magnus cringed at his own judgement. 

The sound of a slamming car door broke the white-noise-silence of the rain, willing Magnus out of bed, urging him to look out the window to see what was happening. Sue him, it was a small town— he had to take whatever action he could get.

A trim man in a well-cut yet not custom-tailored suit walked out of a nondescript sedan, clutching a portfolio beneath his arm as he eagerly walked up the path to the Lightwood house. Magnus would recognize that man anywhere— Lorenzo Rey. He was one of the only other queer people in Brocelind Plains, which alone ignited a small flame of unwarranted jealousy in Magnus’ stomach, but he was also one of the towns’ two real estate agents, of the firm Rey & Hill. Once he was behind the wall of derelict topiaries and unshapely bushes, Magnus had nothing left to snoop on. It was unlikely this was any kind of social call.

Rey’s business partner Andrew Underhill (he’d dropped the ‘under’ for the flow of the firm name) was also his life partner and soulmate. Despite being pretentious, arrogant, and a thorn in Magnus’ side each year when they co-costumed the period dress for the Founder’s day parade, Lorenzo was a good man. Loyal to Andrew, a great benefactor to the schools and community— not the type to shack up with the new history teacher early on a Saturday. That left the only alternative— that it was a business meeting. Alec was going to sell the house.

_ Stop catastrophizing, _ Magnus scolded himself. It was a cruel joke, how only a few weeks ago he was peeking through the blinds watching Alec move in, wishing the man would just turn around and go back to where he came from. Now, the idea of Alec selling the house sent Magnus into a near panic. He pulled himself away from the windows— it was no use staring blankly at the mist. 

Instead, he went the route of distraction. Slipping on his favorite silk robe, he shuffled downstairs, careful not to trip over Chairman Meow as he followed him down the steep staircase. He lit a fire in the living room as he passed through, a much needed comfort on both a practical and emotional level. Then, he started his journey onto his next comfort: caffeine. Three clicks to right, release. The gas stove lit. A few minutes later, his kettle was on its way to a boil, his coffee beans were ground, and the larger french press he rarely used was dusted out, re-assembled, and filled with fresh grounds. He caught the pot just before it started to whistle, filling the glass vessel and stirring furiously with a chopstick. 

As he placed the open press on the cork trivet, it hit him. Why had he used the large coffee pot? He didn’t particularly need more than two cups this morning, and he’d even remembered to disassemble the smaller one last night and run it through the dishwasher. His subconscious had nudged him toward a fantastic idea: he was going to bring Alexander a cup of coffee. It wouldn’t be too strange. The beans Magnus used were remarkable enough to warrant sharing. Plus, Alec had brought him beer before, so it was only fair to return the gesture. 

That’s how Magnus ended up on the front porch of the Lightwood house in the first presentable outfit he could throw together, shivering in the rain, his hair dusted by the mist, clutching two travel mugs of coffee. Lorenzo hadn’t left yet, judging by the car still parked alongside the road, but Magnus felt no remorse potentially interrupting them. If anything he wanted to sabotage this— but that wouldn’t be fair. Just as he went to press the doorbell, the front doors swung open, Alec ushering Lorenzo out.

“Thank you so much Mr. Rey,” Alec held open the door.

“Please, it’s just Lorenzo—” Lorenzo started, but Alec cut him off.

“Oh, Magnus,” Alec said, his tone breathy and surprised. “Good morning,”

“Ah yes, good morning Magnus,” Lorenzo leered. “This weather does nothing for your hair, remind me to share with you some of my custom hair oil next time you—’

“We’ll be in touch,” Alec said firmly to Lorenzo, not-so-subtle in shooing him away.

“It was wonderful meeting you Alexander, and a pleasure doing business.” Lorenzo gave a light bow, covering his hair with his portfolio as he left, the rain coming down harder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Magnus said quietly. “I brewed a six-cup french press of this Kenyan blend,” he held up one of the stainless-steel mugs. “Thought we could share.”

“Thanks, I’d love that.” Alec took the proffered cup. “Do you want to come in? The place is a wreck, but you’re more than welcome.”

“Wait, what’s that?” Magnus leaned around Alec, looking out at the corner of the porch, where a strikingly clean swing swayed in the breeze.

“It was one of the first projects I started working on when I moved in. I had to reinforce some of the beams above it, make sure it could hold weight, refinish the wood. Just finished it up a few days ago. The paint should be dry, if you want to test it.”

“That would be lovely.” Magnus smiled, crossing the porch and taking a seat. 

“You’re not dressed for the cold though, I’ll go get some blankets.” Alec left his coffee on the ground beside the swing, dipping inside. Magnus was careful not to knock it over as he pushed against the creaking boards of the porch, gently swinging. Alec was back nearly as quickly as he’d gone, a few rough and tumble wool blankets in tow. 

“That was fast,” Magnus remarked.

“The house doesn’t have central heating, so I keep a few blankets in every room. Well, just the rooms I stay in.” Alec handed the blankets to Magnus, but stayed standing, awkwardly leaning against the porch railing. He popped open the lid of the travel mug, sniffing curiously before taking a deep sip. Alec’s eyes fluttered closed in response, betraying his discomfort, but once he looked back up, the rigid standing resumed.

“Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to join me.” Magnus raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee and letting the hot liquid warm him from the inside. It was far colder outside than he’d prepared for, and he was thankful for the scratchy wool blanket.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” Alec bit his lip. “I mean, it might be a little cramped.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re very big, and I assume by proxy, very warm.” Magnus patted the seat next to him. Alec sat, shifting until he made himself comfortable. The swing wasn’t very big, and there was no way for them to avoid touching, their thighs flush, their feet tapping together. 

“This is very good,” Alec took another sip of coffee, gesturing to his mug. “You said it’s from Kenya? I’ve always wanted to go—”

“Are you selling the house?” Magnus cut him off. He couldn’t hold the question back any longer. 

“I”m considering it,” Alec said evenly, pausing to take a long swig of coffee like a man starved. Like an addict. Magnus wondered how many cups of coffee he drank a day.

“Brocelind Plains isn’t doing it for you, then? Moving back to the city?” Magnus tried to hide the hurt in his voice. 

“That’s not it.” Alec shook his head. “This house— it’s not mine, not really. For some reason, my uncle Gideon left it to me in his will. Combined with the Maserati, that’s the sum total of my personal assets. If I fix the house up a bit more, I could maybe sell it and stand to make a solid profit.”

“Did Lorenzo tell you that, or was that why you asked him to come view the property?” Magnus rolled his eyes.

“A little of both. You two seem to not like each other, but he was singing the praises of your home, just so you know. How you restored every detail, mostly by hand, he even said he was kind of jealous of your artistic talents.”

“Lorenzo Rey, jealous of me?” Magnus nearly choked on his coffee.

“That’s what I gathered between his snide remarks about your choice in upholstery, at least,” Alec laughed, bumping his shoulder against Magnus. The rain picked up, pelting hard against the sloping roof of the porch. Magnus wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, passing the second one over to Alec, who thus far had seemed rather cavalier about not taking it. Now, he took it eagerly. Draping it over his lap, he scooted closer to Magnus. They sat in silence until the coffee was gone, their cups stowed away on the floor. 

With their hands tucked beneath their own blankets, Magnus was surprised when he felt Alec’s hand reach under to find his own. At first, just their pinky fingers touched, but then Magnus let down one of his walls, taking Alec’s hand in earnest, and breaking the silence.

“So are you going to do it, then?” Magnus said quietly. He couldn't believe this was happening.

“I might,” Alec pursed his lips. 

“The students will miss you,” Magnus said, but he was doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t. He took a quick breath for courage. “I will miss you,” Magnus’ voice fell.

“That’s doubtful,” Alec said warmly, turning to face Magnus. 

“You can’t know how I’ll—” Magnus shook his head incredulously.

“No, sorry,” Alec said hurriedly. “I mean— you won’t miss me, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in Brocelind Plains for a while. At least, that’s my plan.”

“So you’re staying in town, but you want to sell your house? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but despite what Lorenzo might have told you, the real estate options here are a tad limited.”

“I’m  _ considering _ selling my house in the near future. The house isn’t what’s keeping me in Brocelind Plains.”   


“Then what is?” Magnus turned to fully face Alec.

“You know just as well as I do,” Alec swallowed, his eyes never leaving Magnus’. “I met my soulmate.”

“But it could be anyone, Alexander. You just moved here, you’ve met so many new people, and—”   


“And I’ve only met one chemistry teacher,” Alec backed up just enough to slide his arm out from under the blanket, pushing up his sleeve and revealing his soulmark.

“A… caffeine molecule?” Magnus leaned in, observing the design. It still had room to grow, there were a few new lines and dots around the edge that would eventually lead to a more intricate design.

“So that’s what it is,” Alec smiled. “I knew it was some kind of chemical, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Well,” Magnus took a deep breath, mimicking Alec’s gesture to reveal his own soulmark. “I only know one archer.” He showed off the bow on his forearm, which had grown even more since this morning. Just spending time on the swing with Alec was enough to make it grow. 

“Now you know why I might sell the house. You see, I met my soulmate, and he is very attached to his house, so I figured it might be a good idea to start letting go of this one early since, like you said, the real estate market here is a bit… slow.”

“You’re so sure about me that you’re already thinking that far ahead? But what if you get to know me better, and you realize that I’m just too much. You’d be homeless!”

“Don’t ever say you’re too much,” Alec cupped Magnus’ cheek. “And you’re my soulmate. I don’t expect everything to be perfect, but relationships take effort. I already have feelings for you that I can’t explain— I’ve felt them since the moment I first saw you— but I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin.”

Alec closed the small distance between them, kissing Magnus fiercely on the mouth. Magnus vaguely felt him tug at the lapels of his coat, but it was hard to keep track of anything other than the searing electricity of Alec’s lips on his. Every saccharine metaphor about kissing finally made sense, finally sounded completely reasonable. He pulled Alec closer, his body flush against Magnus’ chest, warmer and more comforting than the blankets now forgotten after falling to the floor. Alec’s velvet tongue tasted like coffee— Magnus’ coffee— a level of domesticity that elevated the romance higher than any caffeinated beverage had a right to— but he wasn’t complaining. Alec broke away slowly, and Magnus chased his lips, getting in one more kiss because Alec was too far away. 

“What is it?” Magnus whispered, too vulnerable to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“No, nothing like that,” Alec leaned back down, kissing Magnus’ forehead. The shift in his weight sent the ceiling creaking. “I don’t think I reinforced the ceiling properly,” Alec slowly slid off the swing, standing up.

“As fabulous as kissing you is, I will accept a brief interruption if it means our relationship doesn’t end before it begins by being crushed beneath the falling roof.” Magnus bent down to pick up their discarded cups and stood up. Looking out at the front yard, the mist remained but the heavier rain had died down. “I have to take these mugs back home. Would you like to come with me?”

“Will there be more coffee?” Alec said cheekily. He took one of the mugs from Magnus, freeing a hand for him to hold.

“Of course,” Magnus pulled Alec forward. 

“Then I might never leave.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it just_another_lightwood_bane!!!


End file.
